Increasing Velocity
by hermionegarner
Summary: No one ever said marriage would be easy, but Hermione definitely thought it would be easier than it's turning out to be. Between trying to read her husband and his objectives and protecting her children at the same time, she definitely has her hands full. But when her family's threatened, what lengths will she go to to keep them safe?
1. Chapter 1

DISLCAIMER: I wish I could claim these characters, but I can only claim the storyline. I hope you enjoy.

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**CHAPTER ONE**

Hermione slowly opened her eyes to stare at her bedroom ceiling, remaining still until everything came in to focus. She glanced to her left, knowing what she wanted to see, but also knowing that she wasn't going to see it. Sighing heavily, she climbed out of bed and pulled a robe over her pajamas, dragging her feet on the floor as she crossed the room.

The floorboards creaked as the thirty-year-old witch made her way to the kitchen—he had been promising her he would fix those for about three years now, but nothing had ever been done. Like most of his promises, this one was empty, holding absolutely no meaning in his heart. Her hand shook only slightly as she prepared her morning cup of tea in the unusual silence granted her by her sister offering to take care of her three-year-old daughter and two-year-old son for a couple of days, hoping that Hermione and her husband would find an enjoyable and peaceful way to spend their anniversary, which was the next day.

As she lifted her drink to her lips, she heard the guest bedroom door open and close very loudly, but in such a manner that she knew the intent had been for the door to make no noise. She didn't turn when she heard him enter the room, and he went about his business, taking some cereal from the pantry and some milk from the fridge and placing both containers on the table as he searched for a clean bowl. She knew he was having the last of their Weetabix and finishing off the last milk carton, but still did nothing but silently sip her tea.

"Morning," he said cheerfully as she heard the cereal falling in to the bowl he had finally found in the back of the cupboard. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not particularly," Hermione replied, setting down her finished cup lightly before crossing her arms. She heard him stop his activities and felt his eyes on the back of her head, but still didn't turn.

"What's wrong, Love?" he asked gingerly, as if stabbing her with a dagger.

Trembling, she finally found the courage to turn and face the man she had almost been married to for five years. Looking at him and into his eyes, everything seemed to be the same, and yet now everything was different. It was hard to believe that the man she was looking at could break her heart, but the evidence was absolutely overwhelming.

"Where were you last night?" she whispered, holding back tears.

"I had to work late," he responded, no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

She took a deep breath of air. "How late?"

He shrugged and sat at the table with his now poured bowl of cereal, sending the milk carton and empty cereal box into the trash with a flick of his wand. "About midnight."

Hermione let out a small sound that resembled a hiccup before covering her mouth and turning away again. With the hand that wasn't covering her mouth, she clutched her stomach, suddenly feeling very nauseated. Behind her, she heard a spoon being set down on a table before it had even been used, and a chair pushed across the floor. She waited, but she didn't hear any footsteps.

"I was up until three," she confronted, slowly bringing herself to face the man that had promised to be true to her forever. His eyes were blank and unfeeling, while hers were glossed over with tears. He watched silently as she struggled to keep her composure, struggled not to lash out at him both verbally and physically.

"I don't care who she is, Ron," Hermione finally squeaked out, talking through the hands that were covering her face, hiding her shame. "It really doesn't matter to me what she has that I don't or why you did this, but please—please, think about the children—don't do this to them."

"I think about them every day," her husband said after a moment's silence. "And I don't want them to be hurt in any way."

"Then can you at least pretend to love me?" the young woman sobbed, her heart breaking with every beat. "Can we pretend we're happy?"

She leaned against the countertop, knocking over the empty tea cup as she sank to the floor. The volume of her sobs was loud enough that she didn't hear her husband approach her and kneel on the ground next to her. She shivered when she felt his hand in her hair, his fingers softly playing with the golden brown curls.

"I do love you, Hermione," he choked, and she was surprised to hear that he, too, had been crying. "And I want you to be happy more than anything in the world. Just tell me what you want, and you'll have it."

"I want you to stop lying to me," she peeped in high enough tones that she was sure the neighbor's dog heard. "I want you to be honest about where you are, what you're doing, and who you're with, and not sneak into the house in the middle of the night, and be a part of this family, be here for your children—"

He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away as she stood. She felt all of the anger she had been repressing for the past year come to the surface and let out a small scream of frustration before dashing to their bedroom. She grabbed the folded picture of the beautiful, attractive, young girl off of the nightstand and glanced at the number that she had memorized by now, resolving to call her. If she couldn't get the facts from her husband, she was going to get them somehow, even if it meant confronting the woman who had taken him away from her.

As soon as she had gathered her emotions, she took out the cell phone her parents had bought her so they could keep in touch and dialed the dreaded number. It seemed to ring for hours before anyone picked up, and Hermione was surprised to hear a man's voice on the other end of the line.

"Who is it?" he asked in a very deep and gravelly tone.

"I'm calling for Patricia," Hermione said uncertainly.

There was a moment of silence as her statement was registered on the other line. "Patricia Eastwood?"

"Yes, Sir."

Another moment of silence. "I'm sorry, Miss, to have to inform you of this, but Miss Eastwood was murdered about four hours ago."

Hermione numbly lowered the phone from her ear, hanging up without another word to the mysterious man on the line. She stared in horror at the picture in her hand, the beautiful face that seemed so alive, that had so much life left to live. It was slightly ironic that she was feeling all of this pity for the woman who had taken her husband, but truth be told her body was frozen in fear.

Her husband had practically confirmed her suspicions that he was with her the night before with his silence, and if that was the case, it was very possible that he had witnessed a murder.

Or worse, taken part in one.

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A/N: What did you think? I hope I've built up enough mystery and suspense to keep you reading. Don't worry, everything will be explained, so if it doesn't make sense now just trust that it will in future chapters.

Let me know what you think! Review, please!


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Hermione changed into her work clothes in a daze, trying to forget the gruff voice over the phone. As she buttoned up her shirt, she heard him enter their bedroom cautiously and stuffed the young girl's photo deeper into the pocket of her robes, afraid of what might happen to her if he found her in possession of it. The man she was married to was not the same man she had fallen in love with, and she didn't know what he was capable of. He seemed to be trying to avoid her at first, but with their closets right next to each other it was practically impossible. He sighed deeply and slowly turned to face her as she finished choosing her accessories for the day.

"There's so much I want to tell you," he began, shuffling his feet on the ground.

"And there's so much I don't want to hear," she responded, her voice quivering as she did so. She couldn't understand what had changed him, but really did not want to know. He watched her walk to the master bathroom and pull her hair back, putting on a thin layer of lip gloss. It was not pleasant to feel him staring at her, to see his eyes in the mirror gazing into hers. He seemed to be searching her, trying to figure out what she already knew, what she might have guessed.

"I have to work tomorrow," said Ron at length as she picked up her handbag.

"Fine," she responded coldly. Their last two anniversaries had been spent apart as well, and she wasn't in the least surprised that he would rather be with a younger, more beautiful girl than she was.

"But I made reservations for tonight at seven," he said quickly before she could shut the door to their bedroom on him. She stood there with the doorknob in her hand, almost frozen with shock. There was no sound behind that gave her the impression that he was trying to stop her, and yet she was unable to move. The only sound to be heard was her hard and staggered breathing as she struggled with her emotions.

"Where?" she stammered.

"The Sphinx," he answered, and she could hear that he was forcing a smile. That was the restaurant where he had proposed to her five years ago, where their life together had started. Hermione clutched her stomach once more, feeling as if she might fall to the ground in shock and disgust. How could he be so cruel to her to bring her back to the place that once held so many happy memories, clouding it with darkness like the rest of her life?

She couldn't find any words, and so nodded at him silently before continuing towards the fireplace. Just as she was about to grab a handful of floo powder from the flowerpot on the mantle a young woman appeared on the hearth, her bright blue eyes wide and her black hair in a tangled mess. Her eyes scanned right past Hermione and met Ron's, at which point she let out a squeal of delight and pushed past Mrs. Weasley into her husband's arms.

"Oh, _Ron!_" the young woman cried. "You have _no idea _how happy I am to see you!"

Hermione's eyes clouded with tears as she turned her back on the scene, vaguely aware of her husband asking the young woman how she had found his house. She could feel his unfeeling eyes boring into her back, pushing her out of the room, out of her own house. Because it wasn't her house at all; it belonged to all of _them_, the other women in Ron's life. She wanted to move on, accept that there was nothing between them anymore, but found herself still getting lost in those blue eyes of his, still faltering when he smiled…it was ridiculous, she knew, but Hermione was still completely in love with him, and it was breaking her heart how much he so obviously didn't care about her anymore.

But the fact that her husband didn't return her love wasn't the only thing that was bothering her as she travelled through the floo network to the Ministry. Her hand went absentmindedly to the picture in her pocket, what was left of a poor, defenseless young girl. She wanted to believe that her husband hadn't been there the previous night, but she had found the picture in his things, the number scrawled out in his handwriting. Originally she had thought it was strange that he was using muggle methods of communication, but then realized that he was probably trying to assimilate into the muggle society under an alias, one that had no wife, daughter, or son to concern them. Tears clouded her vision once more, partly from emotion and partly from the soot that she was travelling through.

The spinning stopped, and Hermione joined the throng of witches and wizards finding their way to their offices, her mind wandering far away from where she was. If her husband was seeking sexual pleasure in the muggle world in order to keep his married life a secret, why had the girl entered their house through the floo network? She sighed deeply as she realized that he simply didn't care whether or not she found out about his exploits; he knew as well as she did that no matter what happened, she wouldn't be able to help but remain faithful to him. He told her that he wanted her to be happy, but it was all a lie, he only wanted to be satisfied himself.

But if he murdered that girl…

She shook at the thought. How could Ron of all people commit such a crime? He may have stopped loving her and found other sources of pleasure and happiness, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that he could take another person's life, especially someone as young and innocent as the girl in the photo.

_Focus on facts,_ she reminded herself. She knew that he hadn't come home when he said he did the night before, and she knew he was trying to hide what he was doing from her. She also knew that at some point in the previous night, Patricia Eastwood was murdered, and that her husband had been carrying a picture of the woman in his briefcase. She knew that another woman had found her way to the Weasley home this morning and ran into her husband's arms right in front of her, and that he had been surprised to see her there. Other than that, everything was just conjecture.

Perhaps he wasn't with Patricia last night. Perhaps he was with someone else, seeing as there were obviously multiple women in his life. In fact, the chances of him being involved in this murder in any way were looking more and more slim the more she thought about the situation. He probably didn't even know that she was dead yet and would be completely surprised when he heard the news.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she reached her office to see a stranger sitting at her assistant's desk. At first she thought it was Ginny, but the bright orange hair was cut too short and the ears were too small to belong to her friend. When the young woman turned to face her, Hermione was shocked to see that her eyes were a deep red. She smiled with her mouth closed and stood, proving to be extremely short, holding out a pale, delicate hand.

"My name is Isabella Santi," she said in a high-pitched voice that was surprisingly pleasant to listen to. "I'm your temporary assistant, Mrs. Weasley."

"Where's Brad?" questioned Hermione as she released the young witch's hand, extremely confused.

Her blood red eyes widened with surprise. "You haven't heard? Well, I'm not sure I'm the one to tell you this, but—"

The young woman faltered, but Hermione held her ground, waiting patiently for her to speak up. As one of the co-presidents of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione was used to people having to give her bad news, and it was sometimes difficult for them to find the words to describe what happened or the situation. She only hoped that nothing too horrible had happened; Brad Greysbeak was the best assistant she ever could have hoped for, and she didn't see how she could do her job without him.

"Mr. Greysbeak had an aneurysm burst last night," she finally spat out, causing Hermione to take a step backward. "There was no one home, and he bled to death."

Hermione's hand immediately went to her heart and she closed her eyes, trying to recover from the shock. Brad had been barely forty, and one of the hardest working men that she knew. She was also very familiar with his wife, Vivian, and their three daughters, Fiona, Clarissa, and Mimi. All four were completely devoted to him, and she couldn't imagine the shock they were facing at the present.

"Call off my meetings," she ordered, picking up the handbag she had just set down. "I won't be in the office today."

"Already done," said Isabella, smiling the same toothless smile. "Unfortunately you have a very busy day tomorrow because of it—"

"That's fine, thank you," said Hermione quickly, letting the door to her office slam behind her. A few people eyed her curiously as she strode down the hall in the opposite direction from everyone else, but they all knew that she had a good reason to not be in the office, even if they didn't know what that reason was. Within seconds she was back at the fireplaces on her way to the Greysbeak residence, and was so anxious she nearly got out a grate too early.

The first person she saw was Fiona, the oldest daughter at age 19, sitting silently on the couch in the living room. She young girl looked up and brushed her dark brown fringe out of her face when Hermione appeared, forcing a small smile in her direction.

"Hullo, Hermione," she said softly, her dark eyes distant as she fingered her necklace with her left hand. Hermione recognized it as the necklace she had received for her last birthday from her father, seeing as she had helped pick it out. As the older witch stared at the younger, she noticed a glint on her left ring finger and let out an involuntary gasp.

Fiona nodded in response. "He proposed last night. We were going to tell everyone at breakfast this morning, but when we woke up—"

Her voice trailed off, and Hermione saw a single tear fall down the girl's right cheek. Fiona had always prided herself on being extremely strong emotionally and hardly ever let anyone see what she was feeling, but she couldn't hide her despair in this circumstance. Hermione sat next to her and placed a comforting arm around her, not knowing what else she could do to help.

At that moment, Vivian entered the room, a waterfall of tears cascading from her eyes when she saw her husband's boss and friend. She was the opposite of her daughter in almost every way with golden hair and a reputation for being extremely emotionally open. The two women embraced, and Hermione found tears in her eyes once again, but this time for someone else's pain.

"Clarissa and Mimi are still at Hogwarts," Vivian spluttered. "We're bringing them home tomorrow, so they can make it to the funeral—"

"He hadn't been having headaches or anything?" asked Hermione, desperately trying to understand how this could happen. Brad was an extremely healthy individual and took very good care of his body. It seemed impossible that he would have had an aneurysm and not known about it.

"It was in his neck," Fiona said dryly. "The coroner said he would have experienced some neck pain prior, but Dad always had a crick in his neck so he probably thought nothing of it."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But he was so _young_! Peripheral aneurysms almost always occur in the elderly, usually those with a history of medical problems—"

"The coroner also said that," Fiona clarified as her mother became subject to a new set of wails. "It doesn't make much sense, but that's what happened."

She caught her breath and looked around the room in sadness. None of them had seen anything like this coming, and it seemed almost unbelievable. Just yesterday he was in her office, helping her with her duties as well as giving her advice. He was the only one who knew of Ron's infidelity and had tried to persuade her multiple times to leave him and take the children. But she couldn't do that; Rose and Hugo needed a father, and however dysfunctional it might be, she needed Ron as well.

After a few minutes it was clear that mother and daughter wanted to be alone for the time being, so Hermione took her leave, promising to attend the funeral that would be held two days later. How could she not? At this point in her life, he had been her best friend, the only person she could talk freely about her problems with. Ginny and Harry had no idea that there was anything but happiness in the Weasley home, and it was going to stay that way. Hermione's sister Jane was also completely oblivious to the witch's pains. She knew she would never be able to confide in any of them, and now the one person who she had been able to trust was gone.

Sighing, she said her home address into the flames and waited patiently for her living room to appear in front of her. The house was dead silent, as she had expected, and she put a pot of tea on the stove for the second time that day. Tea always seemed to calm her nerves, no matter what the situation. A couple years ago Ron had told her she drank too much of it and tried to help her break her addiction, but he had long since stopped caring about little things like that.

She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse before deciding to change altogether. She wasn't going to be wearing this outfit to the Sphinx, anyway—she knew he didn't care, but she wanted to look her best, and had just the dress in mind that might make him notice her, if only for a moment. As she walked down the hall towards her bedroom, she almost thought she heard someone's voice, but put it out of her mind. There was no one else at home.

Her hand turned the doorknob of her bedroom and opened the door slowly, but she froze as soon as she had a view of what was going on inside the room. Ron was leaning over the same young girl who had come into their house that morning, his lips against hers, his hand rested on her breast as she lay on Hermione's side of the bed. When the door opened, they both sat up suddenly at the noise and Ron almost fell off of the bed. His face turned a bright red as he met his wife's eyes and he released his hold on the stranger, climbing down and taking a few tentative steps towards her.

"Hermione—"

"GO TO HELL!" she screeched, surprising herself with the volume of her voice. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she slammed the door in his face and ran to the basement stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. The basement had never been finished; it was on Ron's very long list of things to do for her which he would never get around to doing. She fell into one of the dust ridden corners and began to sob uncontrollably, her entire body shaking with the force of her emotion. Part of her had wanted to believe that it wasn't true, that she was reading too much into things, but how else could she explain what she saw?

As she convulsed on the ground, she knew there was only one thing for her to do. She was going to go insane if she stayed in this place, slept in the same bed he took them to, saw his eyes see right through her each and every day. There was nothing to do but leave—leave and never come back. In a frenzy, she began summoning her things to the basement and shrinking them so they fit in her handbag, hardly paying attention to if she was forgetting anything. She summoned the children's things as well, making sure she got Rose's favourite doll and Hugo's mini quidditch field. Just as she finished fitting everything into her purse, she heard his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs quickly and stayed just long enough to see his face one last time. He yelled her name as she apparated, but there was nothing that could stop her now. Her mind was made up.

She appeared on her sister's doorstep and rapped on the door loudly, knowing that she was probably waking both children from their afternoon nap, but not caring. Jane opened the door cautiously and gasped at her sister's tear stricken face.

"What happened?" she whispered as Hermione entered the quaint home.

"It doesn't matter," insisted Hermione, desperately trying to seem calm. "Where are they?"

"Upstairs, first door on your left," Jane responded, staring at her sister's heels. She could have apparated for how quickly she reached them, and opened the door slowly, praying that it wouldn't creak too loudly. To her relief the hinges remained silent, and Jane reached her just as she was drawing her wand.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" she breathed.

"Putting sleeping charms on them," Hermione responded. "I don't want them to wake while we travel."

Her sister raised her eyebrows. "Where are you going?"

"Not sure yet," she answered, causing Jane's expression of confusion to turn into concern. After placing charms on each of her children, Hermione gathered the rest of their things into her handbag except for the double stroller. Her sister watched as she slowly lifted each child out of their portable cribs and into a seat and the children did nothing more than stir slightly. When both were in the stroller, she straightened and forced a rather unsettling smile.

"If Ron comes, tell him to search for me all he wants," she said softly. "I'll be waiting when he changes his mind."

Without another word, she took a hold of the baby carriage and apparated to the airport, ignoring the stares she received from the muggles closest to her. She walked briskly up to the counter and took out the credit card she had for emergencies.

"One adult and two children to Sydney, please," she said, out of breath, and placed the card on the counter.

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A/N: Well, what did you think? Do you want more? Is it written well? Please, review! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

The lady at the counter was confused when Hermione told her she had no luggage to check, but sold her the tickets anyway. They travelled through security easily and the children were still asleep when they boarded the plane. Hermione purchased the required child restraint seats and fastened her children in them, not paying attention to the pitiful stares onlookers gave the apparently single mother.

"Running away, Deary?" an old woman asked kindly as she passed. Hermione pretended to not hear her, though her eyes became even more misty than before.

"There's no shame in it," the woman continued. She took the seat directly behind Hermione and leaned forward. "What did he do to you? Beat you?"

Hermione again ignored her and sat down, having finished securing her two children in their seats. She tried to relax and forget everything around her, but there was too much for her to think about, from Brad to the picture that still remained in her pocket to what she'd seen going on in her own bedroom, on her own bed—

"Infidelity, then?" the obnoxious woman persisted. "Well then, I wouldn't be running if I were you. I'd kick him out straightway, tell him to go live with her."

She couldn't help the hiccupping noise that escaped her throat. Behind her she heard the woman 'tsk.'

"Now, that's no good, Dear. You must get a hold of yourself. Go back to your house—put your kids to bed. He's the one who needs to get lost."

Hermione took a deep breath. As obnoxious as the woman was, sticking her nose in others' business, she had a point. Why should she be running? She hadn't done anything wrong. Rose and Hugo didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to be torn away from their home. It was enough that their father was leaving them.

Wiping her eyes, Hermione stood and fumbled with the belts keeping her children in their seats. She thought she saw the woman smile, but thankfully she didn't say anything. Once the children were free, Hermione retrieved the stroller from the overhead compartment and placed Rose and Hugo in it. She summoned the nearest flight attendant and returned the child seats before rushing off the plane just before it took off.

Once back in the airport, Hermione stepped into the nearest restroom. The minute it was empty, she disapparated, appearing in the children's bedroom. Gingerly, she lifted each of them out of the stroller and into their cribs.

She heard frantic running down the hall. He must have heard her apparate. She didn't turn as he opened the door and ran in, his breath heavy.

"Hermione, you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly."

"Just listento me—"

"Oh, _shut up!_"

He was quiet for a number of minutes while she tucked the children into bed. She took a deep breath and turned to face him. Looking into his eyes, she could almost convince herself this was all a big misunderstanding.

Almost.

"I went to Jane's house," he said softly. "I—I thought I was never going to see you again."

Hermione didn't respond. She walked out of the nursery into the living room, and he followed. Even though the children were asleep, they shouldn't be having this conversation in their room.

Ron sighed. "Will you please give me a chance to explain?"

"Explain what?" she spat as she turned around. "I _saw _you. In our room, on our bed—"

The words caught in her throat. Ron took a few steps towards her, and she took a few steps back.

"Look, what you think you saw—"

"No more lies!" she yelled. "No more excuses! Just stop, Ron! You don't love me anymore—I accepted that months ago—"

"That's not—"

"—but what I don't understand is why Patricia Eastwood is dead!"

The words came out of her mouth without her really thinking. Ron stared at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Patricia Eastwood?"

"Yes."

He tried to compose himself. "How do you know—?"

Hermione took the photograph out of her pocket and tossed it at him.

Suddenly, Ron's expression changed. He was no longer confused or surprised—he was angry. Hermione nervously tightened her hold on her wand.

"Where did you get this?"

"Your briefcase."

"Why were you in my _briefcase_?"

"I was suspicious. With good reason."

Ron grit his teeth and took two steps towards her. "You have no idea what this is. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself—"

"Did you kill her?"

Hermione watched his reaction carefully. She'd been in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement long enough to know a murderer when she saw one.

And her husband was definitely a murderer.

He set his jaw and crumpled Patricia's picture in his hand.

"You did!" Hermione said, a certain level of disbelief in her voice. "You had an affair with her, then you killed her."

"I didn't even meet her until last night!"

"So she was a prostitute? What, did she threaten to blackmail you?"

"She wasn't—Hermione, I didn't have sex with her!"

"But you killed her."

"Yes!"

Hermione felt something tight in her chest. Her husband turned away from her and covered his face with his left hand. Slowly, Hermione raised her wand. She held back tears as she spoke.

"Ronald Weasley, you are under arrest for the murder of Patricia Eastwood."

She flicked her wrist. Ron's hands were pulled behind his back, and handcuffs appeared around his wrists. He let out a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob.

"You don't know what you're doing."

She grabbed his shoulder and led him to the fireplace, holding her wand against his neck. She kept her hand as steady as possible, but it was visibly shaking. Of all the things she thought she'd face on this job, this never even crossed her mind.

"Brad was right," she muttered. "I should have left you months ago."

Ron turned just before the reached the fireplace. "I know that's what he thought. But he knows the truth now. Talk to him—"

"He's dead," she snapped. "Did you kill him too? Because he was trying to help me get away from you?"

Ron stared at her. The shock on his face was genuine—he didn't have anything to do with Brad's death. But that didn't change the fact that he'd murdered Patricia.

Hermione waited for him to say something, but her husband remained silent. Disgusted, she pushed him into the fireplace. He didn't resist when they arrived at the Ministry, didn't resist as she led him through the corridors to the holding cells. They received plenty of stares and even a couple comments, but Hermione ignored them.

As they passed the auror offices, a familiar voice called out. Hermione didn't stop as Harry ran toward them, confusion plastered on his face.

"Hermione, Ron—what's going on?"

"Out of the way, Harry," Hermione said, her voice dry.

Harry glanced down at Ron's bound wrists before staring at Hermione in shock. "You can't seriously be arresting him!"

"I said _out of the way_."

Harry didn't move. Hermione flicked her wand and forced him to step to the side. Harry tried to step in her path again, but his partner, Bradshaw, held him back. When they reached the elevator, Hermione closed her eyes tightly, Harry's yells that she must have made a mistake still echoing across the walls.

Finally, they reached the holding cells. Hermione found an empty one and pushed Ron inside. She turned to go.

"How did Brad die?"

Hermione hesitated before answering. "Aneurism in the neck."

Ron's eyes widened and he pressed himself against the bars. "Listen to me, Hermione. Brad's death wasn't an accident."

She eyed him suspiciously. "What do you know about it?"

"I—that's all I can tell you," he said, strain in his voice. "Believe me, if I could tell you more—"

"Save it for the interrogation," she snapped before turning away.

Ron called after her, but Hermione left as quickly as she could. She received plenty of stairs on the walk back as well, but again ignored them. Once she'd reached the fireplaces, she returned home.

She poked her head in the nursery—the children were still sleeping. She crossed the hall into her own room, but stopped before she'd walked all the way in. She stared at where she'd seen Ron with that woman on her bed, and her tears resurfaced. Quickly she turned her back on the room and went into the guest room instead. She closed the door behind her, collapsed on the bed, and sobbed.

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**A/N: **Sorry I didn't update this story for (literally) years. It's been on my mind, though. Hopefully I won't go into a stupor like last time and actually update :P Please review!


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